


iChicken

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Category: Choice of Games, Hero Project Redemption Season, Heroes Rise
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6538765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not quite a reunion, but maybe if you close your eyes and imagine, you can convince yourself that it counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	iChicken

**Author's Note:**

> Rampant spoilers for Heroes Rise and a more minor one for Redemption Season.

You’ve had trouble sleeping since the Devoid war.

No matter how many times you tell yourself that Victon had it coming, that you were doing what you had to do to protect your family, you can’t help replaying that moment in your head, again and again. The moment you grabbed hold of a disarmed man and snapped his neck with your bare hands.

There had been a trial, of course. Heroic violence was always newsworthy, but the murder of the president of the United States, that took some beating.

You’d been exonerated. Part of you still isn’t sure you wanted to be. Plenty of people had spoken up for you. Jenny had got the finest team of lawyers money could buy, and slugger knew that you could afford it. Whilst what you’d done was extreme, so were the circumstances, and given Victon had attempted to kill you first, they were able to successfully argue that it was self-defence.

Which was fine, except for the part where it hadn’t been self-defence at all.

You’d killed Victon because at that moment, the only thing you could think of doing was paying back just a tiny dose of the pain he’d caused you over the years. From imprisoning your parents to threatening your gran, to trying to take away your Powers.

And most of all, what had tipped it over the edge. Gunning down Prodigal with the shot meant for you. Leaving you helpless to do anything except watch as the woman you loved bled out before your very eyes.

Falling for Prodigal was crazy – insane. She’d tried to kill you. Repeatedly. She’d infiltrated your life, kidnapped grandma and your best friend, and then attempted to blow up your home. (Victons have a pretty awful track record in that regard, honestly).

And yet for all that, there was something about her. There was that… connection between the two of you. Even as enemies, even before you knew Prodigal was out there. You were both orphans of sorts. You’d both been screwed by Victon – her probably even worse than you. More than anything, Prodigal just understood what it was like to be you, in her own very strange way.

You miss her. Hard. Doesn’t matter that she wouldn’t have had long to live if she’d survived the battle. Infini Powers are something the Herologists are still expanding their knowledge on; maybe they could have found a cure for her condition. Slugger, Prodigal herself was pretty much a technical genius. Even if abusing her Powers were what had landed her in that position in the first place, you can’t believe that there’s _nothing_ that could have been done.

And… and even if there was no way of saving her, you still feel cheated. There are so many things you wish you could have spoken about, so much left unsaid. You were together for barely a couple of days, and you’d spent most of it fighting for your lives. You never even got the chance to say goodbye properly.

You can’t draw any satisfaction from finally freeing yourself from Victon, because in the end, he still won.

He stole Prodigal from you.

You stare at the ceiling and genuinely contemplate just getting up and going for a night-time soar. Flying always makes you feel a little better, and it’s a lot more productive than lying in bed watching the clock ticking ever forward. How many nights is this now that you’ve spent sleepless, deathly tired but still awake? It feels like months since you’ve snatched more than a few hours, and it’s driving you nuts. You have a million one obligations that you’d do a much better job of fulfilling if you weren’t spending most of your time blundering through a sleep deprived haze.

For slugger’s sake, you’re the hero with the highest Legend level on current record, and you can’t even enjoy it. The press and the praise are everything you ever wanted – everything you _thought_ you ever wanted, and yet now they just seem pointless. Insipid. Even having your parents back doesn’t feel as good as it should. In many ways it’s very strange indeed. They haven’t been a part of your life in over ten years, and the last time they actually had a hand in your upbringing, you were still a child.

It’s not that you don’t get along, or anything, there’s just some adjustment needed. You all are still relearning how to be a family.

You can just imagine Prodigal rolling her eyes at the thought of family time with the Itos, fidgeting her way through an awkward dinner with the people who she thought killed her mother, whose father imprisoned them for a decade.

_‘Chicken dearest,’_ she’d say. _‘I feel I may have made a faux pas with your parents,’_ she’d nod sagely. _‘Nobody even attempted to murder one another at the dinner table, and I was sure that’s the traditional greeting for members of our fractious families.’_

And yet as excruciatingly embarrassing as that mental image strikes you, it’s still better than the alternative. The alternative that you’re living.

Her not being there at all.

“Jules, are you still awake?”

The figure of MeChip Poppy blinks to life in front of your eye. She’s wearing a thick nightgown and a look of concern all across her weathered face.

“Oh, you know… thought I might catch a movie on the 3V,” you try to play it off with a smile.

Poppy purses her lips and then sighs. “Just try and get some sleep, dear. You need to think about your health.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks,” you can’t even begin to muster any enthusiasm for your mental response, and Poppy gives you a little nod before fading out of view. At least Poppy is a computer system, as much as she sometimes feels like your closest companion. In the flesh friends are a lot harder to dissuade. They don’t have an off switch, for one.

Ugh. The only consolation is that you’ve kept up with your lone wolf ways and thoroughly _avoided_ going anywhere near the greatest collection of your friends, the Millennial Group. You’re not sure you could have handled Jenny and Lucky hanging around 24/7, trying to get you to ‘snap out of it’. You love Jenny dearly, but it feels like every time you’ve seen her over the past couple of months, she’s subtly and not so subtly started steering the conversation towards counselling, therapy.

Well, newsflash. Maybe you don’t want to snap out of it. Maybe for once in your life you don’t want to be the indomitable Legendary hero and just want some slugging time to yourself and your emotions. Maybe you just need some slugging space.

You roll over onto your left side. It does not promise any more sleep than your right. Slugger. You can tip battleships, cause atomic blasts and go toe-to-toe with the biggest and baddest heroes in the country, but you can’t make yourself just _rest_.

Back onto your right side. Nope. Nothing doing. Has more time passed yet? You eye the clock. It hasn’t even been a minute since last time you looked.

A telltale buzz just behind your eyes. Incoming MeChip call. What the hell? Not that you were sleeping anyway, but who the slugger calls at three o’clock in the morning? You _could_ have been asleep, if you were functioning like a normal person right now.

You’re pretty tempted to reject it just out of principle, but you hesitate. It could be something important, after all. Tired, fried, and hurting though you may be, you’re still a hero. One of your friends could be in a bind.

You take the call.

“My rambunctious Rushy! How are you, chicken?”

Your heart skips a beat.

Prodigal hovers just in front of your eyes, hands on her hips, the devil’s own smile on her face.

“Aw. Don’t look so confused, chicken. You might hurt my feelings. Did you really think I wouldn’t have any backup plans?” she tilts her head, stroking her chin. “Actually my plans do have a track record of me dying, don’t they?”

“Prodigal…” you manage at length. “You’re…” you daren’t even say it. If you say she’s alive, it’ll fall apart, it’ll just be a dream, it won’t be real.

She winks at you, but her lips twitch wryly. “Still dead as a doornail. Sorry.”

That’s like a punch to the gut, and it only amplifies the sensation that you’re talking to a ghost.

“I don’t understand.”

Prodigal rubs her nose. The red stripe that runs up her face is as vibrant as ever, and she looks healthier than she had during those last days with you. She’d been dying before she was ever shot, but…

“You haven’t learned to stop trying to understand me yet? You never were good at knowing when to give up, chicken,” she pulls a face, thinking. “Let’s call it a technological twist, a veritable visit from the ghost in the machine.”

This doesn’t make sense. But then, nothing about the two of you ever did make sense. Everything was against you getting together, up to and including logic. You don’t care. You want, with everything, to reach out and embrace her just one more time, breathe her in, remind yourself of what she _feels_ like because for slugger’s sake you only had one night together and that _wasn’t enough_.

“How are you calling me?” that’s the piece to the puzzle you’re missing, even though you dread hearing the answer.

“Now that’s a good question, chicken!” Prodigal’s eyes light up. “I have no idea!”

 That answer is so incredibly, impossibly _her_ that you have to resist simultaneous urges to both facepalm and burst into tears.

A lazy shrug. “I’m in the MeChip network, chicken. Or at least sort of me. Does it still count as the one and only Prodigal daughter if it’s just my glowing personality?” she waggles her eyebrows at you. “It’s quite the existential enigma.”

Comprehension begins to slowly dawn. “You’re …a computer?”

“Close enough, chicken. Being digital is not _nearly_ as interesting as my Powers though, let me tell you.”

A thick weight lies leaden in your stomach. “So you aren’t real.”

Prodigal pulls an expression of mock outrage. “Chicken! How rude of you! Is that delightful damsel Poppy real?”

“She-“ you hesitate. “Well she…” that’s hard to answer. Poppy _is_ just a pre-programmed personality, but she certainly feels like a person. You’ve shared fairly lengthy conversations with her before, even if they’ve been intermittently broken up by mentions of you needing to upgrade your internet package if you want to research more of a particular topic.

Prodigal’s smile turns a little sombre, far more serious than you’re used to ever seeing her. “I know it’s not the same, chicken,” she says softly. “I died, and this doesn’t change that I died. But even if the villainous vixen you see before you is just … strands of data and binary, they’re strands of data and binary who still care about their chicken,” she falters, attempts a laugh. “Slugger, how horrendously mushy.  Quick, call me crazy to break up the tension!”

You actually do try, but the words catch in your throat and come out as a choked sob. You drag the back of your arm across your eyes, trying to blink away the tears.

“Hey, chicken. Aw, chicken, come on, don’t cry, it’s a really unflattering look on you,” Prodigal leans close to you, you see through blurred eyes. “Julia, listen…”

You manage a nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The little digital version of your girlfriend brings her hands up to your face, and even though she’s intangible, you can almost feel her cupping your chin.

“It can’t be easy... This is me we’re talking about, when have I ever made things easy on you? But you can’t give up, dearest archenemy. Frenemy.  Lover-rival. What I did for you was my choice, chicken. It wasn’t your fault.”

A clenching fist around your heart. Prodigal had sacrificed herself for you. How can she say that? “I could have-“

“No. You couldn’t, chicken. Don’t you see? I went out the best way I could. I love you, Julia, and you have one slugging hell of a lot more to live for than me.”

Something snaps. “How does that matter without you!?” the tears are spilling down your face. “We were supposed to win it together, Prodigal! I was supposed to… I was…” it comes out in a whisper. “I was going to find a way to help you.”

“Chicken…” she gives you a long look, smiling sadly. “You can’t save everyone. After all the things I did to you, to other people… Sonja, Jenny, my parents even…” she sighs and shakes her head, but the smile becomes brighter, more genuine. “Dying like that was the only heroic thing I ever did. Make it worthwhile, or so help me I’ll, uh…” Prodigal pauses. “…I’m not really sure, but I’ll think of some kind of computerised catastrophe, mark my words.”

You snort in spite of yourself. Her words make it only a little better but… maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s a point there, amidst her usual ramblings. You just… you need some time to think.

“I love you,” you settle on.

She cocks a finger at you, mimes firing it like a gun. “You have terrible taste in women and it’s wonderful, chicken. Almost as terrible as mine.”

This time you actually do laugh. “Will I… will I hear from you again?”

Prodigal ‘ruffles’ your hair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m using about fifteen different backdoors to do this and I doubt the MeChip brass are going to be too happy about having a rogue personality in their systems,” she folds her arms and grins. “Of course, it’s not like I have much else to do but dodge the drones.”

No firm answer then. Slugger. You reach out to her, and she ‘sits’ on the palm of your hand. “Prodigal if I don’t… if you don’t…” you close your eyes, swallow, reopen them. “Thank you. For everything.”

She fires off a half salute. “Take care, chicken. I’m rooting for you.”

And then, with a quiet ‘click’ of disconnection, she’s gone.

You’re all out of tears.


End file.
